


Hands of Healing

by PangurBan24601



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Adem, Blood and Injury, Gen, Healer Kvothe, Hurt/Comfort, I still don't understand the Lethani, M/M, Vague sign language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:05:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PangurBan24601/pseuds/PangurBan24601
Summary: Kvothe takes care of Tempi after a sudden fight leaves the Adem warrior badly injured. Set in the short time after Kvothe destroys the bandit encampment, but before he meets Felurian.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with Kingkiller Chronicle over the past few weeks. I know, I know, I'm late to the party, but better late than never. Anyone else still keeping up with this series? Hellooooooo? Guess I'll find out soon enough.  
> Right, so there is entirely not enough Tempi hurt/comfort fics in this burning world, and I grew desperate for it while reading The Wise Man's Fear. I had to see how Kvothe might take care of the quiet, young Adem warrior. So, here you go. I hope you enjoy, and I'd appreciate any kind of feedback--really just to know that there are other fans out there as excited as I am to be reading such a fantastic series.

* * *

Our mission complete and Hespe’s leg healed enough for light travel, we made our leisurely way west, hoping that the map we had found in the leader’s tent was trustworthy enough to land us somewhere in the vicinity of Crosson within a couple of days. Our moods were light, owing in no small part to the weight of the new coins we held in each of our pockets. Dedan had diminished his complaining to perhaps two times an hour, and even Hespe with the pain of her injury was up for laughing and joking with the rest of us.

It felt good to be able to simply walk and enjoy the company of my newfound friends without feeling the need to constantly observe the terrain for broken twigs, dead leaves, and other infuriatingly subtle signs of mankind.

I have no doubt that this respite we had all eagerly and wordlessly agreed to allow ourselves was at least partly responsible for what happened that afternoon. Marten told me later that he found himself entirely to blame, that any tracker worth his salt would have at least seen something, anything to warn of another sinister presence. I discouraged his line of thinking, but his was the kind of stubbornness that made argument a fruitless pursuit.

The event seems ridiculous when I think back on it. It had taken us many days of careful tracking to discover a rather large encampment of bandits, but took us less than one day to discover a much smaller one entirely by accident. Marten was the first to see the lookout archer, but the enemy’s arrow was loosed long before Marten had a chance to cry a warning, let alone nock an arrow of his own.

From my perspective, Tempi simply disappeared. He had been in my peripheral sight, and then he wasn’t. I turned to look for him and found him on the ground behind us. There was confusion in his eyes, and he was already trying and failing to stand back up. The arrow had pierced him a couple inches below where his collarbone met his left shoulder, and he was attempting to use his left hand to raise himself. Not surprisingly, his arm gave out and he toppled back down. I had registered by that moment that our Adem companion was arrow-shot, though I don’t think he realized it until he fell a second time and had to force himself to search his body for the source of the issue. This sort of shock is not uncommon when a man is struck with a longbow arrow, especially in an unexpected attack. Before Tempi could do more damage to himself, I knelt beside him and pressed my hand on his uninjured shoulder to keep him from standing again.

“Hurt. Stay down,” I spoke to him in Ademic. _Serious_. I knew I was butchering the pronunciation, and the gesture had to have been vague at best. Thankfully, Tempi nodded his understanding.

I heard a shout and looked up to see the sentry fall, one of Marten’s arrows in his belly. The shout had been some kind of warning from the sentry, and I heard responding shouts from beyond the small hill the sentry had been standing on. Dedan and Hespe had drawn their swords and Marten already had another arrow ready. I felt the weight of the knife under my clothes and contemplated whether I should join the fight as well. I gave a worried glance back down at Tempi. His vulnerable body lay trembling beneath my hands. He would be in danger if I left him.

His eyes briefly met mine for the first time that day. All confusion was gone from his face, replaced by his usual neutral expression. He spoke to me in Aturan.

“Go. Fight now with them.”

“You’re injured,” I protested. “I can’t leave you defenseless like this.”

“Kvothe. Fight now. It is of the Lethani.” He made some kind of attempt at a sharp gesture with his left hand, but either it was one I didn’t recognize or he could not do it properly with his arm so weakened.

I stood up to rush after the others.

* * *

It was a short battle.

The lookout had been wise to use his only shot on the mercenary wearing red, but it was not enough to save them. Only three men had remained. Dedan ran to one, and Hespe to another. The third one seemed ready to get the jump on Hespe, no doubt noticing her pronounced limp. So I charged in, no plan other than to disrupt his. It worked. He turned on me and threw a kick I was entirely unprepared for. It hit me in my stomach and I struck the ground with no breath in my lungs and agony in my belly. He raised his short sword to end me and I was saved by Marten’s second arrow, which found the bandit’s throat. Dedan and Hespe had already finished their enemies by then, and Dedan rushed over to offer me a hand getting up. I accepted it gratefully.

“You saved her life,” he said, gesturing to Hespe as she and Marten clapped each other’s backs.

I blushed in embarrassment. “All I did was get kicked,” I admitted. I rubbed my sore stomach, absently diagnosing the hurt and deciding that nothing had been ruptured within.

Dedan grinned, wrapping me in an unexpected hug. “Far better for you to be kicked in the stomach than for Hespe to be kicked in the leg and brought to her knees before two enemies.”

Hespe and Marten were listening by then. “What happened?” Hespe asked, curiously.

Dedan explained how he had seen the third bandit approaching her blind side with intent to take advantage of her injury while she was distracted in her own fight. Then he recounted what I had done in embarrassing detail. Which was, if you’ll remember, getting immediately kicked to the ground. Still, Hespe seemed genuinely grateful and clapped my shoulder roughly in friendship. Marten, the real savior, gave me a friendly nod, then said, “Quickly now. We need to take care of Tempi.”

The four of us rushed back to where I had left Tempi, and I was relieved to see him breathing steadily as we approached. He was lying on his right side, his right hand cradling his left elbow. My eyes moved to the arrow stuck in his left shoulder and I winced without meaning to. It was thick and long, and it had pierced all the way through, the arrowhead and several inches of shaft sticking visibly out of Tempi’s back. Marten gave a soft, sympathetic whistle. I was the first to kneel by Tempi’s side.

“The danger is gone?” Tempi asked in Aturan. His eyes were open and clear, his face studiously blank. I nodded. The fingers in his left hand splayed slightly, his thumb tucked between his first two fingers. _A small smile_. I returned the gesture, then began to examine the entry wound. The red clothing made it difficult to tell, but he didn’t seem to be bleeding much--yet. Tempi’s face remained blank, though his skin was even paler than normal and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. He was also trembling slightly.

“No cries or groans, hardly any blood,” Marten spoke mostly to himself, quiet admiration in his voice. “It seems the stories have some truth to them.”

Dedan sniffed, as close to an agreement as I think he was capable where Tempi was concerned.

“I need the sharpest sword or knife we have,” I said.

“Probably Tempi’s sword, the way he keeps up with it,” Hespe offered.

I looked back down at Tempi. “May I use your sword?” I watched his hand for a gesture, but none came. “Yes,” he spoke instead, quietly. I reached for the blade at his side. The short sword came free with a satisfying sound. I braced the base of the arrow at the front of Tempi’s shoulder and quickly cut off the excess shaft above my fist. Tempi’s whole body briefly tensed and relaxed, his face remaining impassive. Dedan sniffed again, obviously impressed.

I tossed the length of arrow aside and replaced the sword in its sheath. “We’ll need shelter,” I said.

“Easy,” Hespe said with a smile. “The bandits had a tent.”

* * *

Tempi wanted to walk, but I was not convinced he wouldn’t faint and injure himself further. Though he wasn’t heavy, it was still difficult work to lift him into an easy carrying position without jostling the arrow. Dedan and Marten did it while I instructed them. Dedan showed no small amount of irritation at my constant corrections (“ _Watch the shoulder. Hold his arm steady. Mind his head._ ”), but to his credit he was surprisingly gentle.

The small campsite had nothing that we hadn’t already found in great quantities at the previous encampment. But it had a tent, something we had neglected to take with us from the previous site and now desperately needed. Hespe and I checked to make sure it was set up sturdily, then arranged the blankets we found inside to create as soft a space as possible. Marten and Dedan lowered Tempi carefully onto the blankets and Hespe pushed her pack slightly under the left side of his lower back so he wouldn’t have to worry about rolling onto his wound. She also folded her cloak into a pillow and placed it under his head. Tempi started to gesture what I thought was the beginning of _immense gratitude_ , but he dropped his arm halfway through and simply spoke in Hespe’s direction.

“Thank you.”

She seemed surprised. “You’re welcome.”

It was clear from the amount of blankets that at least three men had been sharing the tent, which would have been comfortable enough in sleep, but was too cramped for anything other than that. As it was, there were now five of us squeezed into a tent built for two. It was going to be impossible to work with Marten’s breath on my shoulder and Dedan’s elbow practically jabbing my ribs.

“You three go on back outside. Get the fire lit and prepare a meal. Marten, keep watch for any others who may return.” I doubted anyone would, but it never hurts to be prepared. The three accepted my orders with no complaint, stepping outside one after the other. The tent flap fell closed and I secured the cloth ties to keep the wind out. A fair amount of light managed to beam in from the edges of the tent floor, but it was getting close to sundown. I went ahead and lit one of my beeswax candles with a bit of sympathy and set it up nearby.

When I turned back to Tempi, his face had completely transformed. Pain and terror filled his features, and he had even begun to softly whimper. The change shocked me, and I spent a short moment grasping around my brain for what to do before I unconsciously grabbed his right hand.

“It’s all right. You’re all right,” I said, squeezing his hand and trying to make sense of this sudden change. The obvious answer, which you have no doubt already discovered, came to me moments later, once my panic had begun to let up. The face he had put on outside had been for the other mercenaries’ benefit. I went ahead and asked him to be sure.

“Tempi, is it of the Lethani to hide pain from barbarians?”

His hand movement was stiff and small, but I could have sworn I read _approval_. Then he began to cry.

* * *

I came to a few more conclusions while Tempi was busy chewing some willow bark I had given him. He was very young, twenty or so, and his only scars were clear, but light, as if several small shards of glass had grazed the skin of his arms, chest, and back, perhaps in some kind of Adem training exercise. It was likely that this was his first real battle wound, and it was a serious one at that. I discovered an odd feeling of pride swelling in my chest at the accomplishment this implied. He was scared and in pain, but had still managed to do right by his people. It also spoke volumes of our friendship that he felt intimate enough with me to allow his facial expressions to be freely seen.

“How do you feel now?” I asked in Adem.

Tempi began to lift his left hand, but I caught it and carefully lowered it back down, shaking my head in gentle reproach. “Don’t move this arm again until you have healed.”

He needed his left arm to speak properly, and with a wound like that, permanent impairment is always a strong possibility. The fear and devastation in Tempi’s face showed that he knew this only too well.

“...The bark helps,” Tempi said, averting his eyes out of habit.

“May I take care of your wound now?”

I saw the fingers of his left hand twitch and relax. He closed his eyes and gave a long exhale.

“Yes. Please.”


	2. Chapter 2

Assured that Tempi was stable enough to be left alone for a moment, I went outside to see if the others had anything I could give him for his pain. I may have also been delaying the inevitable task of removing the arrow from Tempi’s shoulder. Had we been in the Medica, it would have likely been done by Master Arwyl, or perhaps a more experienced El’the under Arwyl’s direct supervision. It certainly wouldn’t have been delegated to me. Still, the other mercenaries had made it clear that they trusted me more than themselves to take care of our wounded ally, so I didn’t have much of a choice.

Hespe and Dedan were busy reigniting the smoldering campfire the bandits had left behind while Marten kept lookout at the edge of the camp. They each looked up from their duties when I exited the tent. Their faces reflected mere curiosity, but their eyes betrayed a deep concern that warmed my heart to see.

“He’s alive,” I said in answer to their unspoken question. Dedan exhaled audibly.

“But I haven’t yet treated his wound,” I continued. “Does anyone have any kind of anesthetic?”

I should have expected the blank stares.

“Something to dull his pain, like opium, or a strong drink,” I amended.

Dedan snorted, obviously over his brief worry for Tempi’s life. “I thought the Adem weren’t supposed to feel pain.”

Hespe shot him an icy glare. “Don’t play the ignorant fool. Of course they feel pain.”

“They hide it well,” Marten said with an agreeable nod toward both of them. He played the peacemaker role very well these days.

“Well? Does anyone have anything?” I asked again, holding back harsher words for the sake of diplomacy.

“Dedan still has some of that brandy he snuck out of the Pennysworth,” Hespe said, a wicked smile on her lips.

“That was meant to be a secret between us,” Dedan glared back at her.

I would have rolled my eyes if I hadn’t been so relieved. “Well then, hand it over,” I said, calmly.

Dedan grumbled something about traitorous women, then reluctantly went to his pack and dug out a large, half-empty bottle of brandy and thrust it out in my direction. I took it delicately.

“Thank you,” I said, sickly sweet.

“See if I ever share with you again,” Dedan spat in Hespe’s direction.

“How about this, Dedan,” Marten said, more loudly than I had ever heard him speak, his tone dark and fierce. “You take the arrow next time and you can have all the brandy you want.”

The entire camp went quiet as Marten came over to sit down in front of the now-burning fire. It was clear that Dedan and Hespe had never heard such an outburst from him either. It was Hespe who broke the silence first.

“How is he?” she asked, softly.

I hesitated. “It’s difficult to say. I haven’t pulled the arrow out yet.” _He may yet bleed to death_ , was the unspoken phrase the three of them heard loud and clear. My worry for Tempi, diminished somewhat in the distraction of conversation, suddenly returned, and I feared I had been gone from his side too long.

“Thanks for this,” I said, raising the bottle in a sort of salute in Dedan’s direction.

“Anytime,” Dedan said, quietly, and it was clear that he meant it.

* * *

Tempi was calm when I entered the tent again, showing very little evidence of his earlier terror and pain. He looked up at me with reddened eyes and pointed to the bottle of brandy I held at my side.

“I prefer beer,” he deadpanned.

“This is stronger. It will help dull your-” I stopped, recognizing the small sign in his left hand as  _amusement._  A joke. He was making a small joke. I chuckled, embarrassed. Tempi smiled a genuine smile. It was a little thing, but it made me feel a lot better about what I was about to do.

“I’m afraid this is all we have. We barbarians are terrible hosts, you know,” I joked back. I brought out a small cup from my pack and poured a couple ounces of the amber liquid into it.

“What is ‘host?’” Tempi asked as I took a seat next to him.

I thought for a moment. “A person who takes a stranger or friend into their home and gives them food, drink, and a bed.”

Tempi nodded his understanding. “For barbarian, you are good host.” He started to raise his left arm to sign something, but dropped it immediately with a sharp cry. I grimaced.

Tempi panted for a moment, then said “What is word for pain?”

I cocked my head at him, confused. “Hurt?”

He shook his head. “I know ‘hurt.’ Adem say ‘ _aaii_.’ What do you say?”

“Oh. We say ‘ _oww_.’ Or, ‘ _ouch_.’”

Tempi smiled again. “Hard to remember not to move arm. _Owwwwww_ \--ch,” he said, dramatically overpronouncing the word and tossing the “ch” on at the end, almost as an afterthought. I laughed out loud.

“This will help a bit,” I said, still smiling. I helped Tempi sit up and lifted the cup to his lips. “Go slowly,” I warned. Tempi swallowed, his chest heaving in an obvious effort not to cough. I poured another cup, which he downed with more ease than the first. He grimaced at the third cup I poured him, but managed to force it down with a little extra coaxing on my part; I was counting on the third paying for all.

I lowered Tempi back onto his side and methodically removed the dozen leather straps from his shirt. Then, with his permission, I cut the rest of the shirt off. It had perhaps been salvageable, but it would have been needlessly painful. I was not in a hurry to cause him any more pain than I had to.

With his shirt stripped away, I could see more clearly that he  _had_ been bleeding, though not profusely. A stream of blood from the entry wound flowed lazily across his chest into his right armpit, and a mirror stream flowed from the exit wound on his back. I rummaged through my pack and found needle and gut, a clean shirt, and a small bottle of alcohol that I had salvaged from Caudicus’ lab. I tore the shirt into several strips and folded four of the strips into thick pads.

I laid out the supplies and went through a quick mental checklist. I could only imagine what Master Arwyl would have said about the items I had gathered together and what I was about to do with them. A clean shirt was no replacement for boiled linen, and doing this with no anesthetic other than a bit of willow bark and a few swigs of brandy would have been practically unthinkable in the Medica. Still, I was far more prepared for this than I had ever been performing self-surgery in Tarbean.

I took a rough strip of shirt and dampened it slightly with water from my waterskin. I gently wrapped it several times around the base of the arrow where it sprouted from Tempi’s back. 

I glanced at Tempi’s face. He briefly met my eyes, all humor gone from his expression. He pointed at the leather straps I had piled near his ruined shirt. “...So I do not scream,” he whispered.

It took me a moment to realize he wanted some leather to bite on. I handed him a piece, which he stuck snugly between his teeth.

I wrapped my fingers around the damp cloth on the arrow, shifting the position a bit until I was sure I had a solid grip.

“Exhale--breathe out--when I pull,” I suggested. I modeled a hissing noise, pushing the air through my teeth. Tempi nodded. His eyes were wet again.

I braced his shoulder with my left hand and pulled firmly with my right. Every muscle in Tempi’s body went rigid and he moaned through the leather in his mouth. The arrow didn’t move as easily as I imagined it would, so I began to pull harder, which raised the pitch of Tempi’s moan. The arrow came free, leaving both of us panting with relief. As expected, he began to bleed heavily once there was nothing plugging the wound up. I lifted Tempi to a sitting position and pressed cloth pads onto the entry and exit wounds, applying heavy pressure. Tempi hissed into the leather, taking up the quieter technique I had shown him.

We held that position for several minutes and Tempi’s hissing eventually diminished to a soft hum in the back of his throat. My arms were getting tired from holding them up and keeping the pressure for so long, but I didn’t dare relax until I was sure the bleeding had slowed significantly.

I held the makeshift bandages for five minutes more than I thought was necessary, then slowly let up on the pressure. Tempi seemed to deflate, relaxing muscles that he had unknowingly held taut for the last several minutes. We both winced when I peeled the pads away, but I was pleased to find the bleeding sufficiently reduced. I lifted the bottle of alcohol and took a deep breath.

Tempi stared at the bottle for a moment, his face unreadable.

“It’s alcohol,” I said in Aturan. I had no idea what the Ademic word was. Tempi looked from the bottle to me, confusion in his eyes.

“Alcohol. Um...Disinfectant. To clean your wound.”

Tempi nodded slowly, as if he understood halfway. I uncorked the bottle and held it under his nose. His eyes widened in realization.

“Quickly, please,” he pleaded through the leather between his teeth.

“As quick as I can,” I promised.

* * *

 Tempi yelped like a kicked dog when I poured the alcohol over his wound, and I don’t blame him for the tears he shed while I was stitching it closed. I pressed the two clean pads of cloth to both sides of his shoulder and used the rest of the long strips to bind them in place. Then I laid Tempi down and pressed my ear to his chest, listening for signs of fluid in his lung. Satisfied that his lung was undamaged and that he was not bleeding internally, I took a few minutes to clean the dried blood from Tempi’s chest and back

“Kvothe?” Marten’s voice called softly from just outside the tent. “May I come in?”

I looked at Tempi, who nodded his approval, his face already set. I pulled the cloth ties loose and opened the flap for Marten to enter. The tracker took a seat next to Tempi.

“I’m glad to see you’re still with us,” he said, kindly. “How are you feeling?”

Tempi’s hand stayed down by his side, but I saw it waver slightly.  _Yes and no,_ if I was interpreting it correctly. He seemed to suddenly remember that Marten had no idea what the vague motion meant. “Better,” Tempi said. He paused for about three seconds. “Not good...Better.” He concluded with a small nod. Marten nodded back, then turned to me and placed his hand on my shoulder, leaning his face in close to mine. He spoke very softly, “You are trembling, lad.”

It was only then that I realized how tense my shoulders were. It was not like me to allow tension to go unnoticed in my body. My father had taught me from a young age that a musician must never allow their body to hold unnecessary strain. It was the first thing I had corrected on Tempi’s first attempt at holding my lute. “Relax your shoulders,” I had gently reminded him. He had been trembling then as well, but it would be a few more span until I understood why.

I dropped my shoulders and exhaled deeply. “There’s a good lad,” Marten said, giving my shoulder a soft pat, which I took to be more comforting than patronizing. He lowered his voice again and asked, “Did you listen to his breathing?”

“I did. His lung sounds clear,” I said, careful to keep the childish pride from showing in my voice. Marten gave me a warm smile. “That’s a relief.” He glanced at Tempi’s left hand, no doubt noticing the odd amount of fidgeting. “You’ll want to bind that arm to his body. There’s no telling how much damage his shoulder has already taken. No sense letting it get worse.”

Tempi’s hand fell slack, indicating he had understood Marten’s meaning, if not every word. It would have been funny if Tempi’s situation wasn’t so dire.

Marten helped me secure Tempi’s bicep to his side with strips cut from the blankets in the tent, and we made a functional sling for his forearm to rest in. Dedan and Hespe had finished preparing a stew by then, and Marten went to join them for the evening meal.

When we were alone again, I offered Tempi a tall, empty cup and an apologetic smile. We were miles from the luxury of a chamber pot, and, by my judgment, he wasn’t in any condition to be getting up and going outside. He stared at the cup, and then at me, a question in his eyes. I awkwardly indicated what he was supposed to do with it. Tempi gave me a look of utter disgust. I flushed with embarrassment, unsure about what I had done wrong. Tempi pointed at the cup.

“Not civilization,” he explained, simply.

“‘Civilized,’” I corrected.

Tempi nodded. “Not civilized.”

I resisted rolling my eyes. This from a man whose culture had no qualms with public nudity.

I helped Tempi outside a short distance from camp so he could relieve himself in the more “civilized” manner he preferred. He moved stiffly and painfully, one arm useless in the sling and the other wrapped around my shoulders, but he managed to keep both feet on the ground for the most part. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all when he needed my help with his pants.

Once he was settled back in the tent on his makeshift bed of blankets, I went and brought him some stew. He accepted a few spoonfuls and drank some water, which I found encouraging. He lay down to sleep immediately after.

I went outside to assure our companions that all was as well as could be expected. I ate a quick meal and then returned to the tent, nervous about leaving Tempi alone for more than a few minutes. I found him fast asleep and breathing steadily, another good sign. Assured that he was on the mend, I laid myself down to catch some sleep of my own.

* * *

I awoke in the middle of the night to a soft, desperate gasping sound. I knew immediately what was happening: Tempi couldn't breathe.


End file.
